


The Bastard beyond the Wall

by FlowerofAlganon23



Series: The Bastard Goes Beyond the Wall [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon grows up among the Wildlings, Mance basically stole him, More of a drabble series, R Plus L Equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26424841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowerofAlganon23/pseuds/FlowerofAlganon23
Summary: Every time, Mance ventured south he brought her a gift. Once he had brought her a new dress made of the finest of wool. Once he had brought her a new brush and once he had even brought her a shiny pot for cooking.That he would bring her a child was the last thing she had expected to happen.A tale in which Mance Rayder stole a bastard child from Winterfell...This was once a one-shot-series and I decided to post it as one, because that way it is easier to find.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Val, Mance Rayder/Dalla, More tags to be added - Relationship
Series: The Bastard Goes Beyond the Wall [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908820
Comments: 18
Kudos: 127





	1. How to steal a bastard

It was the first time in nearly two years that Mance had last ventured south to behold Eddard Stark's grey castle. Winterfell was as impressive as ever, but even more impressive was the warmth that could be found inside.

Winterfell was built on hot springs. So much he had read in one of a Maester Aemon's dusty tomes and it were these hot springs that kept these walls warm. It made him wish he could take some of the warmth beyond the Wall to keep his woman warm.

Dalla had only recently lost another babe, but that was no surprise. The lands beyond the Wall provided little food and substance for the Wildlings and Dalla had always been of delicate health. Even with a Maester's help, she would have a hard time having a babe. 

Even so, she would ask him to try again once he returned home. She was so very desperate for a babe.

The food was simple that night. Broth and hard bread and a cup of ale. The wine was even better, but Mance kept away from it most of the night. He preferred to be sober while playing up a song for the people of Winterfell, who would probably take his head if they knew who he was.

An Oathbreaker and now a Wildling.

All this made it all the more entertaining to walk freely in these ancient halls and watch the Stark family.

Eddard Stark was as morose as ever and his red-haired wife rushed through the halls as any good highborn lady should, attending to everyone's woes and wishes.

She had born him three pups. The oldest two were red-haired and the youngest was a wild girl with brown hair that spent most of her time throwing her broth at the older one.

Yet, there was another one, the one hiding in the shadows. Mance recalled him from his last visit two years ago. He had grown by a handful of inches and his Starkish face was just as morose as Lord Stark's.

The last time, the boy and his red-haired brother had built a snow trap for him. They had giggled like little maids when they had succeeded, but it seemed the bastard's life had not improved.

No, instead of smiling he was cowering in the shadows, glowering at his red-haired brother who was laughing in company of an older boy Mance recalled vaguely.

He was at least six years older than the other boys and carried a broad grin on his lips as he pointed at one of the servant girls serving the ale.

Abruptly, the bastard threw his spoon into the broth and rushed away while the boys continued to laugh. Curious, Mance followed after the bastard boy and found him cowering outside, his face pale like the snow beneath his feet.

He looked lost and alone. Mance knew that feeling. He too had never had a proper family. For a time, the Night's Watch had been his family and now it was Dalla and her people.

"Who are you?" the boy's question startled him. Mance was surprised he had noticed his presence. He was known for his light feet. "Why are you following me?"

Mance looked around and noticed that the walls were unmanned. The sentries must have gone off to break their fast and the gates were still open. They ought to slip away soon or they would have stay all night in the castle.

"I wasn't following you," Mance replied. "I was pissing."

The boy frowned.

"You can piss out in the cold?"

Mance laughed. The boy amused him. "I can piss everywhere."

Realization washed over the boy's long face.

"You are the minstrel. Sansa liked your song and asked father to call upon on the morrow."

This amused Mance even more.

"I am a minstrel," Mance replied and noticed that one of his companions was watching them. Sören was a big man, but garbed in proper southron garb and his beard cut off no one would take him for a Wildling. "And I am pleased your lady sister liked my song, but I must leave tonight. There is a big world for me to see and many songs for me to compose."

"I would like to see the world too," the boy said suddenly. "Like my uncle Benjen. He is a Ranger. He often travels beyond the Wall."

Mance couldn't describe it, but it felt as if the old gods were granting him a great opportunity.

"I have visited Mole's Town a dozen of times. I could even take you beyond the Wall, my boy."

The boy's dark eyes shone like two bright gemstones.

"And do you really know my uncle Benjen?"

"Of course," Mance replied. "He is well-known to me."

"I don't believe you. Tell me what he looks like...No, tell me something only a friend would know."

"Your Uncle Benjen looks like your father, Lord Eddard Stark, but his eyes are blue instead of grey. Roasted chicken and onions are his favorite dish and he loves the song the Dornishman's Wife."

The boy smiled shyly and drew closer. He seemed cautious, but not afraid. "Would you take me to him?"

Mance knew he had caught the pup in his net when he gave his answer.

"Of course."

...

Every time, Mance ventured south he brought her a gift. Once he had brought her a new dress made of the finest of wool. Once he had brought her a new brush and once he had even brought her a shiny pot for cooking.

That he would bring her a child was the last thing she had expected to happen.

She could only clutch her chest and stare in disbelief at the long-face and dark-haired boy that was struggling against her husband's strong grip.

The boy was cursing in the southron tongue and he sported an unpleasant wound on his head. He was also very pale and thin.

"Who is this child?"

Mance laughed and grabbed the child by the back of his furred cloak. He lifted him easily, as he continued to struggle and curse.

"I found him in Winterfell. His name is Jon Snow and I stole him from beneath Eddard Stark's nose."

Dalla didn't know if she wanted to laugh or curse her husband, but then that was the reason she loved him. His utter disregard for rules.

"He looks hungry," she remarked and poured a bit of the stew into a cup. She smiled at the boy as she offered it to him. "Do you want anything?"

The boy spat at her feet and Mance dropped him unto the hard ground.

He gave a painful gasp and Dalla flashed him a cold look.

"Stop being so rough with him," she chided Mance and touched the boy's shoulder. He pushed her hand away but didn't attack her. He simply stared at her with wet eyes. "He is just a child."

When he started to sob and buried his face in his shawl, Dalla patted the boy's shoulder and looked up at Mance once more.

"Do you think that was wise?"

Mance shrugged his shoulders and sank down upon the furred carpet. "He is Eddard Stark's bastard. He might be of use to us in the future."

…


	2. Jon

They had been hunting all evening, stuck waist-high in the snow. Jon had always loved running about in the snow with his siblings, but that felt almost like a lifetime ago.

Three years had passed since Mance Rayder had stolen him away from his family and had taken him beyond the Wall.

Two years of waiting for a way of escape, but by now Jon had learned that there would be no escape. Hundreds of miles of snow and the Wall separated him from home.

All he could do was wait.

And in the meantime, he was supposed to hunt rabbits.

Two he had already caught and fastened at his belt. One white and the other brown. Both were bleeding and made the dripping blood beneath his feet hiss and steam.

Fresh snowflakes were melting away on his nose, as he continued to crawl through the underwood, his spear in hand.

The flock of rabbits was now only a handful of feet. He was still kneeling on the ground, his cheek pressed against the tree and the sky above his head heavy with thick black clouds.

An icy wind was blowing from the north and made Jon shudder, but the tree trunk was even colder.

Yet, the rabbit was close. A lone thing with pale grey fur that stood right there in front of him, its ears pricked.

Jon counted from one to ten and was holding his breath momentarily.

Then, just as the animal had settled back down on the ground, Jon threw his spear.

The animal never saw it coming and was left bleeding to death in the snow.

It was a bloody mess as always, but Jon was not afraid of blood.

It was warm and more pleasant than the icy water from the nearby river.

He was also looking forward to having some of Dalla’s rabbit stew. They hadn’t had rabbit stew in ages.

The sky had darkened several shades when Jon stomped back through the snow towards the black cookfire rising into the sky.

There were only six of them who had ridden out on sleds being pulled by wild horses with thick hair and horns.

"There you are, boy!“ he heard Val’s voice from afar. She was Dalla’s younger sister and several name-days older than Jon. She was also very tall and her long braid of light hair was snaking around her shoulder like a living thing as she continued to watch him from atop the hill. "We thought you got lost!“

Jon climbed up the hill and presented the rabbits to her.

She smiled and ruffled his hair. "Not bad. Now come. You look half-frozen; boy.“

Jon nodded his head and sat down in front of the dying fire. It was warm enough but not as warm as a proper tent.

"We should leave soon or we won’t make it back before sunset,“ Tormund Giantsbane remarked and took a swag from his wineskin. He was tending to his pony, his grey beard flecked with fresh snowflakes. „And we all know what that means.“

"To freeze off our balls,“ Longspear Ryke added playfully. "Or to die a bloody death by the hands of these ice monsters.“

Jon shuddered at their mention. He had never encountered them in person, but he had heard stories of the clans that lived deeper in the north. Tormund had told him that some of his kin were sacrificing their children to keep them at bay.

"They are hiding away,“ Tormund replied grimly. "At least that is what Mance believes.“

"Has Mance even seen one?“ asked Harfoot Fairhead. He was a young man that had the face of an old man, all leathery and full of scars. "I think none of us knows what they want.“

"Perhaps not,“ Val added unhappily. She was leaning on her spear and hopping from one foot to the other, indicating that she was impatient to leave or just cold. "But I say we leave. Better to make it back in the middle of the night than to sleep out in the goddamn snow.“I only know this…they are not our friends.“

They left shortly after, the sharp wind whipping around them, and the snow growing higher and higher. The occasional burst of sunlight reaching through the thick clouds was the only reprieve. 

It was a handful of hours before sunset when they reached the milkwater, the sky drenched in colors of violet and bruises of blue and black. There were also a handful of stars flickering on the distant horizon. Jon knew them all by name, but that mattered little. Names were just wind to the tongue of the Free Folk and the stars were more useful for orientation than admiring their beauty.

The ice was thick and smooth beneath his feet. Jon could see a glimpse of his dark hair in the icy ground. It reached easily beyond his shoulders and made him feel like a girl, but it also kept his nose from freezing.

"Stop dallying around, boy,“ Val snapped at him and lead the way. "We must hurry."

Jon ignored her complaints. She had never liked him, though she never mistreated him.

She was just as mistrustful as the rest of her kin. Only Tormund and Dalla had never cared that he came from the south and was the blood of a highborn lordling.

"Are you bleeding again?“ Jon asked teasingly. He had heard Dalla and her whisper about it not long ago. For some reason, the fact that Val had been bleeding was connected to her ill mood during these few days every moon. And when Jon had asked Dalla about it she had only shrugged her shoulders and had told him to leave Val alone. „Because you are so angry.“

Val showed neither embarrassment nor fear. She simply pointed her spear at Jon, though he knew that she would never dare to hurt him. Mance would not allow it. Not as long as he had use for him.

"Your presence makes me angry, boy.“

"Jon,“ he insisted, knowing that would annoy her. "My name is Jon.“

"Jon…Boy,“ Val muttered to herself, as she continued to strut through the snow. "What does it matter? For Mance you are just a hostage.“

Jon gritted his teeth in displeasure. He didn’t relish being compared to Theon. Especially not, because it had been his own bloody fault that he been captured.

"And you are stuck with me,“ Jon replied. „Until Mance decides otherwise. Besides, you are not any better than me. Dalla told me your mother had been stolen as well. You are half-blood…,“ he continued, but Val had stopped abruptly and had grabbed the collar of his furs, pulling him upwards, closer towards her face. She was about seven name-days older than him and rather tall for her age.

"Say that again and you are dead,“ she snapped, her grey-blue eyes burning into his. "I am nothing like your kind.“

Jon felt very pleased that he had gotten under her skin.

"No one can deny his blood,“ Jon teased and promptly landed on his ass.

Jon was not bothered by it and quickly pulled himself back to his feet. Tormund and the others were amused, their laughter mixing with the rushing of the wind washing over the treetops.

"Carry on mocking her like that and she might allow you into her bed, lad,“ Tormund said and patted his shoulders. "Women like that.“

Jon was perplexed by this kind of remark. Why would he want her in his bed?

"I am not cold. I have no need for her warmth.“

Jon felt like a fool when the men were laughing at him all the way home.

… 


	3. Dalla

Dalla enjoyed watching as Jon was skinning the rabbits. He had quick hands, this lad her husband had brought from beyond the Wall to live with them. In truth, he was a hostage and Mance had yet to tell her what he had in mind with the boy, but Dalla had a very good idea.

It was getting colder by every passing year and more and more clans had disappeared to this unknown enemy. That also the reason why Mance spent every free moment to unite their people and resolve their petty conflicts, though that might take another hundred years by Dalla’s estimation.

Even so, she believed to know what kind of a role Eddard Stark’s bastard could play if her husband ever managed to unite the banners under his cause. As the son of Eddard Stark, he could be used as a weapon against the Warden of the North, or at least that is what she believed he had in mind.

Thinking like that, Dalla couldn’t help but pity the boy. She had taken a liking to him despite his sullen nature and his constant bickering with her sister Val. In truth, she believed that Val liked him just as much, though she would never admit it. Their family had always been a small one because their mother had perished not long after Val’s birth and their father not long after that. Val and Dalla had only had each other.

That was until she had found Mance wounded in the snow. _A dirty crow_ , as her people had told her, but Dalla had told them to hump a horse and had taken care of the _dirty crow_ , nursing him back to health and flick his cloak.

Not a year later, he had returned into her arms and only a year later most had forgotten that he had once been the enemy. At times, it felt as if Mance had always belonged to the Free Folk and mayhaps the boy could be the same.

He certainly didn’t complain nor stand out among the other young men. He had learned the Old Tongue quickly enough, was both a capable fighter and hunter. He was also quite comely to look upon, despite his wolfish face and slender build.

The other girls had noticed it too. They were always flocking around him like a horde of lusty mares, touching his hair, or trying to make him smile. It was a seldom thing to see the boy smile, but when he did it was like sunshine after a cloudy day.

That he had finer teeth than most young men of the Free Folk and was always trying to keep himself clean only added to the attraction. It was certainly part of the reason, Dalla had been attracted to Mance. She had never met a man who had smelled of nutmeg, though his abilities in bed were just as pleasant.

"You are doing it wrong, boy!“ Val snapped at Jon Snow and picked the rabbit from his hands. "Let me show you how it is done!“

Promptly, her sister showed Jon how it was done. With capable hands, she skinned the rabbit and handed the dead thing to Dalla, who cut the meat into smaller pieces to prepare it for the stew.

The water was already bubbling and the smell of herbs filled her nose. It smelled heavenly, but she couldn’t help but notice the annoyed expression on Jon Snow’s face.

"Jon did well,“ Dalla praised him.“Do not listen to Val. She is just upset because she had another quarrel with Jarl.“

Jon smiled at Dalla and Val huffed in displeasure. "We had no quarrel, but I am not fond of sharing my furs with some other girl.“

Dalla chuckled and stirred the flames. "No one likes that, sweet sister. I kicked some boys out of my bed for the same reasons, but according to my experience, they are usually coming back at one point. Just wait and see.“

Val brushed her braid over her shoulder and rose to her feet. "I hope doesn’t come back at all. Perhaps I should look for some company among the Thenns."

With these words, her sister had left them, presumedly to glower or to seek out a new bed companion. Dalla sighed in amusement and smiled at Jon, who had pulled the fur around his shoulders. He was no complainer, but he was not used to the icy cold of the deepest winter. Especially, after hunts, one could always find him seated before the hearth.

Dalla smiled and poured some of the soup into a cup. There was nothing better than to warm one’s body after a long hunt.

"Here,“ Dalla offered him the wooden cup. "Something to warm you up.“

Jon Snow accepted the cup without hesitation and drank even faster. His cheeks were deeply flushed when he was done and handed the cup back to her.

"Do you want some more?“ Dalla asked in amusement and touched his cheeks with her free hand. "Well, I think not. You are hot as a brazier.“

"I feel warm for the first time in days,“ he replied and brushed her hand away. "And you do not need to mother me. No one ever did.“

Dalla was confused by his answer. "Your mother didn’t care about your well-being?“

Jon's face was suddenly incredibly pale.

"My mother is most likely dead.“

Dalla was confused by his answer and went back to the bubbling pot of stew.

" _Most_ likely? You don't know?"

"I don't even know her name or what happened to her,“ Jon replied and shrugged his shoulders. "I am just thinking that she is dead because my father never talked about her.“

Dalla was taken back by this revelation. Why would a man refuse a child the name of his mother?

Truly, she was glad she had not grown up among these cold-hearted southron folk.

"Did you ever asked your father about it?“

Jon Snow gave her a mortified look.

"I would have never dared ask him. My father endured enough shame because he fathered a bastard like me and raised him among his trueborn children.“

Dalla nodded her head in acknowledgment. This was another thing she couldn’t comprehend about this southron folk. Children were children, all born from a woman’s womb. Why did these strange people make a difference between them? Among the Free Folk, all children who lived beyond their third year were considered a gift by the old gods.

And those men not blessed with children weren't pitied, but take in some boy or girl in need of a father or mother to raise them.

_Well, Mance has already brought me a boy, although he is a bit too old to be my babe._

"You are smiling,“ Jon replied with displeasure. "Why?“

"Not about you, my boy,“ Dalla assured him warmly. "I just realized that I do not like your people’s customs. Your father should have told you about your mother. Every child needs one, even if it just a name.“

Suddenly, Jon Snow was eying her with a strange expression. It was a mixture of sadness and softness she hadn’t noticed before.

"Perhaps you are right, Dalla. My father should have told me about her and I hope my mother was as fine as a lady like you."

Dalla was strangely touched by his words. "I am not even a mother.“

Jon rose to his feet, the pelt still wrapped around his shoulders as he made his way to the flaps of his tent, probably to seek out his sleeping place.

"Maybe not, but you are to Val…and to me.“

Dalla was taken back by his words. Tears were burning in her eyes when she realized that the pot was boiling.

"Go…,“ Dalla told him and brushed her tears away. "Go and rest. You are distracting me with your silly flattery.“


	4. Val

Val watched how the boy's white wolf lured another girl into his trap. A year ago, he had found a pup prowling through the snow, his mother probably killed by some bear or other grizzly beast lurking in the Haunted Forest.

For weeks, the boy had fed the wolf with milk from goats, and thus the wolf had survived and had grown to a respectable size.

The wolf was already as big as a horse and would only grow bigger as more time pass. The mother wolf must have been enormous.

Yet, the wolf was never hostile towards the girls when the boy was close. On the contrary, he was soft-hearted like a snow rabbit and strangely silent.

And these silly girls always made this giggling sound whenever the wolf licked their arms or sniffed at their clothing. Within the blink of a moment, these brave spear wives turned into fools.

And all because of a silly wolf.

Today, it was Frey’s turn, a dark-haired girl from the Hornfoots, whose father had sworn his tribe to Mance only a handful of moons ago. She was not the prettiest girl, at least not in the way of southron girls, but she had a full bosom and a pretty smile with healthy white teeth. This alone would be enough reason for a man of the Free Folk to steal a girl, especially when she was running about him like a lusty rabbit.

Well, the boy was different. Over the last year, several girls had tried to get into his bed, some pretty and some ugly, some older and some younger than him, but none of them had been successful.

This had led Val to the conclusion that the boy was either not interested in girls or just stupid enough to see what was right in front of his nose.

Truth be told, Val shouldn’t care about the boy or what he was doing beneath his furs, but then she was also horribly bored. Mance had gone off to solve another bloody feud and had commanded Val to keep Dalla company.

That Jarl had chosen to be a fool again made it all the easier to entertain such thoughts.

Val was just nineteen name-days old and had been displeased when she had taken another one of Mother Mole’s teas to prevent his seed from taking hold of her womb.

When Jarl had complained about it and she had told him to fuck himself. Thus he had gone off to keep one of the Thenn girl’s company, though she was sure he would soon come crawling back to her, even if he left one of these foolish girls with a babe.

No, Val didn’t want such a future for her self. She wasn’t like Dalla, who was willing to kill herself for one of these wailing babes who were most of the time shitting or suckling from their mother’s tits.

No, Val wanted her freedom.

"You are watching the Snow boy again!“ Ygritte snapped and called her back tot he presence. "Are you thinking of stealing him now that Jarl is keeping one of these Thenn girl's warm?“

"Jarl can hump a goat,“ Val snorted. "And the boy is too young for me.“

"That makes it all the more interesting, though,“ Ygritte jested. "Maids are sweet and this one smells good. And I have never seen a boy with such fine teeth.“

"That’s because he comes from beyond the Wall,“ Val grumbled and just wanted Ygritte gone. She could be a plague, especially when it came to boys. "Dalla tells me all boys there have teeth like that. At least, that is what our mother told her.“

Ygritte’s blue eyes widened in awe. She wrinkled her puck nose as she leaned closer.

"You are not fucking with me, are you?“

"No,“ Val replied. „Or perhaps my mother simply hated my old man’s rotten teeth. Dalla said the smelled worse than a heap of giant’s shit. Makes me glad I don’t remember him all too well.“

"I don‘t remember my Pa at all," Ygritte replied and left.

Soon enough, Val grew tired of watching the Frey girl trying to worm her way into the boy’s furs.

Currently, she was patting the wolf’s head and feeding him some rabbit she must have caught for him.

The wolf was eating, but Jon Snow appeared tense as he was listening to her babbling.

Truly, there were two fools. One fool who refused a good fuck and another fool who was feeding a perfectly fine rabbit to a wolf.

Val would never sink that low, but then she couldn’t help but watch the boy again while he was washing himself with hot water.

He was never completely naked, but his upper body was bare and the first dark hairs were visible there. He was, of course, hidden beyond a cloth he used to separate his sleeping compartment from hers and Dalla's, but as so often Dalla had brushed it aside to go about some unnecessary business.

Dalla was cutting vegetables for the stew and was oblivious to her actions.

The boy was now washing his hair and had disposed of his lower garb, his shapely legs laid free from the many layers of fur to protect against the cold. It were the legs of a man and not a boy, but he quickly pulled up his pants when Dalla had pushed on the cloth to inquire something about the supper.

"Come and eat with us,“ Dalla told him. "Before the stew gets cold.“

The boy came out from his hiding and enjoyed his bowl of stew while he was jesting with Dalla, who was in an unusually happy mood.

Val felt as if her head was ready to burst and was glad when the boy left to feed his wolf.

"Isn’t the boy a bit too young for you, Val?“ Dalla teased with a smile. "Or do you miss Jarl’s attention so much?“

"I don’t miss him at all,“ Val snorted. "And I do not care about the boy. He is what? Thirteen name days?“

"Fourteen I think,“ Dalla replied and smiled. "But what does that mean among the Free Folk? My first boy was twelve and I was fourteen name-days old. He is also quite grown for his age.“

"Stop pestering me,“ Val threw back and rose to her feet. "I am exhausted.“

Dalla chuckled. "You are just bored that Mance left you here to keep me company. Besides, It’s not healthy for a young man to suppress his urges and I have the feeling he won’t ever agree to enjoy himself with any of the other girls…,“ Dalla trailed off with a knowing smile.

This roused Val’s attention. "And why is that?“

Dalla gave her another knowing smile. "If you care to know you should ask him yourself. Calling him by his given name instead of the boy might be a good beginning, don’t you think?“

Val shook her head in displeasure. Dalla never made it easy for her.

If Val had had any sense she would have gone to bed and not wasted another thought on the boy, but her curiosity got the better of her.

As expected, she found the boy outside in company of his wolf. The massive beast lifted his head, his crimson eyes fixed on her.

"You startled him,“ said the boy....No, Jon. He sounded different these days. His voice was much deeper. "Ghost I mean.“

Val nodded her head and saw that he was feeding him the leftover meat from today’s meal.

"He looks still hungry,“ Val said and drew closer. The wolf made no move. He remained still like his owner. "Your wolf, I mean. We ought to go hunting on the morrow.“

"And leave, Dalla?“ Jon asked in confusion.

Val shrugged her shoulders and sat down beside Jon in the snow. "The others can guard her and I am in dire need of some exercise.“

Jon gave her a strange expression. "You are suddenly talking to me? Why?“

Val eyed him with a frown. "Why not? Do you dislike me?“

"No,“ Jon replied and shrugged his shoulders. "But you always avoided me in the past. Why?“

"Because you always acted as if you were someone better. You have improved.“

Jon gave her a curious look and furrowed his brows.

"In what ways?“

Val smiled, a sudden idea blooming in her mind, as she leaned closer and slipped her hand lower to touch him.

Jon Snow’s confused expression and gasp amused her.

"You are no longer the boy, but a grown man. That’s how,“ she said and leaned closer to kiss his cheek. She had never enjoyed vexing him more. Usually, it was the other way around and he was mocking her all day long. "And I am also curious why you are refusing the attentions of all these girls?“

She wanted to pull her hand away, but Jon Snow grabbed it and held it in place. His face now close to hers, his hot breath brushing over her lips.

She felt that pleasant sensation between her legs and suddenly it was all too easy to forget that Jon Snow was from the south.

She could see that he wanted her, but when she drew an inch closer he averted his gaze.

"Are you after all into boys or just a coward?“

Val knew that she had won him over when he furrowed his brows.

He looked suddenly several years older, almost like a wolf ready to jump his prey.

And that is exactly what he did moments later. He grabbed her face, plunged his tongue into her mouth while his hands started to pull on her furs all too frantically.

Dalla was already asleep when they crawled beneath Jon’s furs and Val mounted him.

Outside, she could hear Ghost’s howling, as if he knew what they were doing...

"You are a strange boy,“ Val asked him later while she was dressing herself. She wouldn’t give Dalla the satisfaction of seeing her like this. "Did you want this after all? Then, why did you refuse the attentions of the other girls?“

As she had said this she had turned around, presenting her breasts to him.

"I was never opposed to it,“ Jon replied and sat up. He was still naked beneath the furs and his dark hair was in disarray. "But the reason is different. I do not want these girls, because all they could ever talk about is how they would give me sons.“

Val couldn’t believe her ears. "And you don’t want sons?“

"Of course,“ Jon Snow replied in a flustered tone. "But I can’t…I can’t father a bastard.“

Val burst out in laughter and covered her mouth. Jon Snow was still glowering when she was done and leaned closer.

"Why are you mocking me?“

"Because wailing little babes is the last thing I want,“ she whispered and kissed him again.


	5. Jon

Jon continued to exchange wet kisses with Val while she continued to rock in his lap, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

Jon had never felt better, his body burning with a different kind of pleasure. Yet, as every pleasure, it was over faster than he could think.

A low gasp escaped him as he clung to Val’s body, growing soft and weak as if he had spent all day training with Mance.

The King-Beyond-the-Wall was a capable swordsman and an even better leader, but that made him so very dangerous.

„Where is your mind, Jon?“ Val asked him and brushed her hand over his shoulder.

 _Jon._ It warmed his heart whenever she said his name, but he also knew that this couldn’t last forever. He had long learned that the Free Folk was not as bad as he had believed, but he still felt like a Northman and Winterfell was still his home.

And soon he might very well get the first opportunity to leave this life behind him.

Yet, when he looked at Val he felt torn, his heart twisting painfully.

He doubted that she loved him, but he was sure that she was fond of him.

Jon was fond of her too. He liked her sharp tongue even more than her generous bosom.

„Its the first time that Mance allows me to join the scouts,“ Jon replied and sat up. He was still naked as he dressed slowly, not bothered by Val’s presence. "I am just nervous.“

„Understandable,“ Val replied and furrowed her brows when he turned around to look at her. "You are no longer considered a boy once you had the first taste of real battle. These crows are more dangerous than they look.“

"My uncle was…is one of them,“ Jon replied, though he didn’t know why. She wouldn’t understand. All women of the Free Folk mistrusted the crows. "Though he probably believes me long dead.“

„Benjen Stark,“ Val said. „We all know him. He is one of the higher-ups among the crows, though not as bad as Qhorin Halfhand, who makes no difference between men or women or little children. He butchers them all the same. He is a monster."

A soft chuckle spilled from Jon’s lips, as he turned to look at her. Her face was full of emotions and his long hair was hanging in disarray around her sharp face. It made her look younger and more vulnerable, but he knew that she was still a woman of the Free Folk. Proud and strong. She had no need of his comfort, though he felt the urge to ask whether this Qhorin Halfhand had laid a hand on her in the past.

"Many people in the south think your kind are monsters,“ Jon replied and offered his hand to her. "Old Nan, my nursemaid, told me all kinds of scary tales about your people.“

"Some of us are scary,“ Val admitted and took his hand: She was smiling at him. Jon returned her smile and pulled her to her feet. "But most of us are just people…people who just want to survive.“

She paused for a moment and squeezed his arm tightly, her blue-grey eyes searching for Jon's face.

"People who would kill for the right to live in freedom, just like yours.“

Jon nodded his head and touched her arm gently.

"Perhaps there is no need for that. The Others are a threat to us all, no?“

Val chuckled and leaned closer, pulling her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him. Jon felt the warm surge back into his lower regions and sighed at the sensation.

"And why would your southron kin believe them?“ she asked and leaned closer, her lips brushing over his. She was nearly as tall as him, though he was ever-growing. "Some of my own people didn’t believe Mance until they saw the Others with their own eyes. Not even the crows believe in them, though Craster is trading his own blood with them. No, your southron kin would rather believe us to be the true enemy than helping us.“

Jon could find no proper answer and kissed her again.

It was Dalla who interrupted them.

"Its morn,“ she stated matter-of-factly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "And you ought to have some proper fast before running off with Tormund and the others.“

Jon returned her smile and let go of Val.

They broke their fast on stew and tea and even Mance decided to join them today. Usually, he was far away, playing the peacemaker or rolling with Dalla beneath the furs. According to Mother Mole, it was the right time to conceive a child, though he didn’t understand why the old woman had told him these kinds of things.

"Do you want me to play you a farewell song, Jon?“ he asked almost cheerfully. He looked exhausted, but he was still in good spirits. "Perhaps the Dornish Man’s wife? Or Jenny of Oldstones? You always liked that song as a boy.“

"I liked the tune,“ Jon mocked. „But I would prefer it if you don’t sing, Mance. Your voice is only made for bawdy songs.“

Mance grinned and picked up his lute. "Then, only the tune.“

He played for a while as they continued to drink some of the ale Dalla had made for them. It was a soft and soothing song, a song that was like a long-forgotten memory.

Sansa had liked songs and so had Arya. Even Lady Stark had smiled whenever a minstrel came to Winterfell, but that was so long ago that it almost felt like a dream.

 _Soon, I will go home_ , he reminded himself, but whenever he looked at Val, he felt as if doubt was overwhelming his reason. _To Winterfell._

"Didn’t you like my song, Jon?“ Mance asked when he had finished playing.

Jon forced a smile over his lips. "Of course. It was wonderful.“

Not long after, Jon took his leave from Dalla and Val. Dalla gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and whispered her secret into his ear.

"When you come back I might be round with a child.“

"I hope so for you, my lady,“ Jon replied and kissed her cheek before shifting his attention back to Val. He simply smiled at her as he pulled back the flap of the tent. If she had been any other woman he would have attempted some display of affection, but he knew that would only hurt her pride.

Besides, they had said their goodbyes in a more than sweet manner.

No, it was time to go.

Time venture into the north…wherever that would lead him.

...


	6. Jon

**Jon**

A landscape of blue and white spread as far as the eye could see. The cold breath of winter was burning on his cheeks and the waist-high snow left him panting for air.

Ghost was different. His wolf felt as if he was at home, as he prowled over the barren landscape.

Jon had now spent half his youth in these lands, his life in Winterfell nothing more than a distant memory. He still recalled the thick grey walls and the smell of pines filling his nostrils whenever he rode forth into the Wolfwood in company of his brothers to hunt, fish or just race through the muddy paths leading through the thick underwood.

The lands beyond the North were of a different breed. There was the Haunted Forest, but as they had continued to move further towards the Skirling Pass, the landscape had changed. There could hardly any trees or foliage found in this place, only jutting sculptures of stone, mountains kissing the sky and snow. So much snow and ice, Jon wished he could be back in Val’s arms.

Yet, it was also the only way to escape Mance’s grasp and to return home…

_Home_ , the word made his heartache with a sharp sting. _Home._

When he was a young boy he had always thought of Winterfell as his home, but now there was a strange feeling of doubt entering his heart whenever he thought of Val, Dalla or even Mance.

It pained him to think that he would never be able to see them again…

Drifting off into his dreams was the only reprieve he felt between the long marches and the cold nights they slept outside, all snuggling close to each other and having to endure the stinking smell of Tormund.

Jon preferred to sleep beside Ghost. He smelled of pine and smoke, but his wolf was often away, venturing further north, hunting or mounting a fellow wolf.

Jon often dreamed of Ghost, though. He dreamed of rushing through the snow and hunting a stag or a rabbit.

He loved these moments the most. The skinny rabbits with the soft flesh that left a coppery taste in his mouth whenever he consumed them.

Still, he also felt the longing for his back return. His brother and sister’s, whom he hadn’t seen since they were nought but pups at their mother’s breast.

It made him grow sad and melancholic to think like that. Then, he would always sit down and howl, hoping to receive and answer.

Yet, the moon remained full and quiet.

Tonight, was not any different and thus he had decided to seek out the camp the humans had made beneath the Skirling pass. The cookfire was housed inside a small cave, the sharp winds whipping against the walls all night long.

There was a strange smell filling his nose. It was the scent of death.

Even so, he could smell the pungent smell of the humans he had followed for years. There were four of them, three males and one female. The youngest had raised him from childhood on and thus Ghost deferred for him out of respect.

He moved slowly over the ice surface towards the cave, a single glimmer of light in a moon cast landscape.

The wind howled and the cold brushed his body, but he felt none o fit. It was almost uncomfortable when the heat of the cookfire touched his body.

The humans were different. They loved the warmth and the youngest of them slept almost too close to the flickering flames.

Ghost drew closer, licking his face to wake him. This lazy leader of the pack, but it took a handful of moments before he finally woke and slipped out of Ghost’s mind.

Jon’s eyes opened and he found a pair of ruby eyes watching him with silence.

It was Ghost and the wetness on his cheek told him that he had tried to wake him from his slumber.

"You are here?“ he asked and patted his head, as he pulled himself up, but still mindful of keeping his furs in place. Even in the cave, it was freezing cold. "I dreamed of you, you know.“

The wolf of his gave a soft howl and brushed his head against his.

It was like a greeting he knew well and he returned it eagerly, his hand brushing through Ghost’s thick fur.

Suddenly, his wolf turned his head and pricked his ears as she rushed towards the entrance of the cave.

"Is something amiss?“ Jon asked and picked up his axe. "Is there someone out there?“

The wolf ignored him, his body suddenly tense like a bowstring.

He gave a low howl and bared his teeth.

The howl woke his companions.

Ygritte was the first one to scramble to her feet, gathering her arrows and bow. Tormund followed in a slower pace, his axe in hand and at last Longspear Ryke followed suit, his spear in hand.

"Ghost sensed something,“ Jon told them and lifted his torch with the other hand. "It smelled of death.“

"Death?“ Ygritted asked, her voice tinged with fear.

"Ghost smelled it,“ Tormund added and eyed the wolf. „You must have warged him. Do you remember anything else?“

Jon shook his head and felt the rush of fear seeping through his body.

"No,“ he replied and felt a sudden shift in temperature, followed by a sharp gust of wind that made the flames of his torch die within the blink of a heartbeat. "What was that?“

"The wind,“ Ygritted replied through clattering teeth. "It must be the wind.“

Jon didn’t want to believe it and gritted his teeth, as he stepped outside the cave, finding himself waist-deep in the snow.

The wind had covered the entrance with snow, but it was half as bad when he could hold unto Ghost’s back to pull him forward.

He could see much better now. The moon provided him with more light than the torch, but the storm had only grown stronger.

It was a strange storm. The sky above was clear and littered with numerous stars, but the wind was incredibly cold, biting into his skin as if touched by Valyrian Steel.

"Jon!“ he heard Ygritte’s shouts, swallowed by the wind. "Come back!“

Yet, Jon couldn’t shrug off the feeling of being watched.

Thus, he turned left and right, desperately trying to find the hidden enemy. Ghost was doing the same, baring his teeth and emitting low howls fury.

Then, he heard it.

It was worse than the cold. It was a high-pitched voice, so inhuman it made him fear his ears might burst.

He had wanted to cover his ears, but that would have meant to drop his axe.

With a racing heart and bleeding ears, he sought the source and found a strange shadow moving towards him.

It was a human with two legs and two arms, but the sound it made was not anything he had ever heard.

Neither were he bright blue eyes staring back at him.

Jon lifted his axe when the creature came rushing towards him at a fast pace and hacked off its head with one savage blow.

He was still trembling from the cold when the creature’s lower body continued to move, grabbing for his feet, trying to pull him down.

Jon kicked at it desperately, but that was the least of his problems, for when he had finally shrugged off this unnatural creature, he found three more of them coming towards him.

Jon lifted his axe and Ghost hurled himself at one of them, but it was no use. Suddenly, there were two more.

He lifted his axe once more, his arms trembling from the cold and managed to hit one creature, but the other two grabbed his arms and legs, their sharp nails and teeth seeking his flesh.

He cried out in pain and kicked and slammed his axe at their heads, cracking bones and spilling brain matter in the fresh-fallen snow.

His companions had joined him by now. Ygritte was shooting arrows at the creatures, Tormund was splitting their heads and Longspear Ryke was dealing them savage blows with his spear.

Yet, it was no use. Every time, Jon thought they were done, they returned to life, clawing and slithering over the snow as if lead by an unknown hand.

Jon found himself pushed to the ground, his face kissing the snow, but Ghost helped him his teeth finding the creature readily.

Jon gritted his teeth and pushed the creature off, grabbing its neck and breaking it with a sharp turn to the left.

As he was pulling himself back to his feet, he found Ygritte still standing atop of one of the cliffs, shooting her arrows, but Tormund was still fighting a desperate battle while Longspear Ryke was being disembowelled by the creatures like a boar after a hunt.

It was then, that Jon felt another person, dark and cold like the breath of ice.

Turning his head, he hadn’t even seen the creature.

It was a tall thin being with two legs and two arms and a head, but it looked like anything Jon had ever seen.

There was a strange beauty to its lithe body and this long even-shaped face framed by pale hair that fell around its face like a shroud.

Jon could not even lift his axe before the otherworldly creature grabbed him around the neck, pulling him upwards.

Jon cried out at its touch. It felt as if someone had pushed a burning rod unto his skin.

He kicked and struggled, but it was no use, the pain so overwhelming, that white dots began dancing before his eyes…

Yet, someone, amidst the fight for survival, he had found himself and grabbed the creature’s hand, pulling and pushing hard.

The creature made no sound, but he finally fell back unto the ground.

He made not even an attempt to get his axe and pushed forward, driving his black blade into the creature’s body.

It was one of these black blades Mother Mole had gifted him once. The Free Folk believed they had once belonged to the Children of the Forest and they believed they protected against all kinds of evil.

To Jon it was only a desperate attempt to survive as he twisted the blade in the creature’s chest, thick black blood, touching his arm and dripping unto his legs and into the snow below. It burned like ice, but Jon had long become numb, his mouth so dry that he could not even breathe properly.

His neck was burning, his head was throbbing and his arm felt as if he had dipped it into a hot brazier.

Even so, the creature perished a heartbeat later, bursting into a thousand small piece at once.

Jon had been thrown backwards by the force, finding himself sprawled unto the icy ground.

His whole body was aching, as he pulled himself up, but found himself suddenly alone.

Everyone was gone, even Ghost.

There was only the cold wind and high atop a hill, Jon found another one of these creatures.

This one was even more gracious, leading atop a tall spear, as he rode atop its mount, a large spider with bluish skin.

Behind him marched an army of dead men, a pair of twin stars shining in the darkness…

Jon’s racing blood roused him from his position in the snow and he pulled himself up, slithering over the ice and wading through the snow, towards the mountains…

It was no use, the creatures were quick on his heels.

Jon barely made it to one of the jutting mountains when one of the creatures grabbed his leg, pulling and biting on it. Another one grabbed his arm, but with a savage kick he managed to shrug them off and with his last strength he pulled himself upwards.

Yet, that was not the end of this mad race, for the creatures followed after him, climbing up the icy mountain formations like the wild squirrels in the Haunted Forest.

Jon tried to move away, but when he had reached the top of the mountain, he found only an abyss of darkness spreading before him…

It was hard to say how high it was, but he was sure the snow would give him a soft landing…

Hearing their high-pitched voices, he had no choice and jumped into the dark sea below…

…


	7. Jon

**Jon**

Jon dreamed he was back in Winterfell. He was walking through the halls, trying to find his siblings and father, but the castle was always empty and deserted. There was no sight of Lord Stark, Robb, Theon, Sansa, Arya, and the many other people he had known as a child.

The only thing he saw there were ghosts of people he didn’t know. Ghosts with hard faces and wolfish grey eyes. Lords old and young, some with wolfs and others accompanied by bears or ravens. They whispered to him in a tongue long forgotten, cursing and welcoming him, Jon couldn’t tell.

He wished he could wake and escape the darkness, but the dreams continued endlessly.

At times, he found himself soaring over the Haunted Forest or even further beyond the Wall. At other times, he was a rabbit, rushing through the underwood. Strangely, he was never in Ghost.

His wolf was gone.

Worse was the heat in his body.

He felt as if he was burning alive.

Sometimes, he was not even in the North anymore. No, he found himself walking through foreign lands and watching people he didn’t know.

He saw a silver-haired girl lead an army of golden-skinned men into battle. He saw a blue-haired boy watching the fish in a river. He saw an ugly dwarf being cut down in a battle while a blazing green fire was devouring a large fleet. He also saw a brown-haired girl weeping in a castle with black walls and a crippled boy being carried out into the snow.

It felt all so unreal. Despite this, he knew he was still alive, but asleep.

And when he finally woke from his slumber, he felt as if someone had broken every single bone in his body.

Every bone in his body ached as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

There was darkness everywhere. Terrible darkness that was occasionally chased away by the dim appearance of light.

He saw it only from the corner of his eye but there were shadows of people visible against the wall.

The walls were equally strange. Made of earth and stone and with twining roots. Jon could see worms crawling there and when he turned around in his strange makeshift bed of leaves and furs, he found pieces of bones strewn all over the ground.

Jon tried to pick one up but his arm hurt terribly. He also noticed the white bindings wrapped around his hands.

He touched one carefully and realized that he had been cut there.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up and tried to stand, but his feet proved weak like pudding and he stumbled to the ground.

„You are finally awake,“ a strange, high-pitched voice spoke to him through the darkness and made him turn his head. „Welcome, Jon Snow.“

Jon narrowed his eyes against the bright light coming from the torch.

It was a young child that held it, a very strange-looking young child.

Then, when the light grew brighter, he realized that it was no child at all, but a strange creature, neither human nor beast.

It had the body of a small child, but its eyes were very big and bright green. The skin was strangely dappled and it wore clothing made of green leaves and leather.

„Who are you?“ Jon asked and backed away. He was not afraid, but wary of this creature. „What happened to me?“

„You were asleep for a long time,“ the strangely-looking child explained. „It is no surprise you are confused.“

„I am not confused,“ he replied in annoyance and pain when he tried to stand once more, but fell back unto his ass again. „I know that I was beyond the Wall and that we were attacked. I ran away like a coward and jumped…I left my companions to die.“

„They are not dead,“ the girl informed him and drew closer. „Bloodraven’s servant told us.“

„Who?“ Jon asked in confusion and eyed the child once more.“Who are you?“

„You wouldn’t be able to speak my name,“ the girl replied. „But I am a Child of the Forest and the creatures you met are called the Others but I am sure you already knew that.“

Jon rubbed his eyes. This was utter madness. This was a Child of the Forest he was talking to.

„You saved me,“ he replied politely. „But now I must leave.“

The child chuckled in amusement.

„You are much too weak. Besides, Lords Bloodraven called me here for a reason.“

Jon didn’t believe his ears.

„Lord Bloodraven?“

The child bowed it’s head once more.

„The very same. He wishes to see you. Now if you please, Jon Snow.“

...


End file.
